The Challenge
by tartan-angel
Summary: Valentine's Day brings with it an interesting tradition for the staff at Hogwarts. I honestly have no idea why I am posting this in November... que sera sera. Rated T for safety.
1. The Challenge

_A/N: Random plot bunny thought. Also, to clarify, a Floo number is a term here used to parody a Muggle telephone number._

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**THE CHALLENGE!**

The staffroom was dark, deserted - if only for a moment. Oh, the times of immense beauty and friendship that have been forever sealed between these four walls are innumerable, so vast in volume that all memories of dark despair and grief and heartache are pushed to the back of my mind. The tales I could tell you of the people that walked these floors, sat in these chairs… you would never believe them. And so I recall for you now one of the great traditions of our time that carries on to this day.

Suddenly, the lights flicker on as the door swings open (a charm placed by Armado Dippet himself) casting a dim glow over the entire room and its eerily still furnishings. Today, much to the disgust of the Potions Master, Severus Snape, the light seems all the brighter, elevated by the generous moods of (most of) the staff. The reason for this charitable feeling is simple; today is Valentine's day. Normally those two words together would have been enough to make half of us cringe with dread, but today is different. Today everybody is aglow with the knowledge of what awaits.

Have I put you in enough suspense yet?

"I defy you to find a better article than Jerinda Malockay's Animagus Thesis," I find myself saying, continuing the little debate Albus Dumbledore and I have been carrying out over a week-long period.

"There, I think you are wrong my dear." He knows I hate being called by that nickname, but he still uses it as one of his numerous in-jokes. "I am sure I have read a better article on Animagus forms and the psychology associated with them."

"Enlighten me."

"Yours." His smile makes my heart shudder as it has done for many years, long before we were even married.

"You know, for a man with a ridiculous appearance, you are indeed a shrewdly intelligent being."

"I have to disagree with you there, Minerva." Before I can retort (as everybody seems to know I will) Pomona Sprout chips in.

"Give it a rest, will you? We are all far too excited to listen to your flirting."

A momentary flash of horror flashes across each of our faces. Pomona is one of the few people who know of our marriage, I wish she would not jeopardise letting out such a secret. By now, Albus and I have learned to disguise this fact, but everybody has their weak moments, right?

"Oh, do get on with it Albus," whimpers Septima Vector, eyes wide open in childish expectation.

"Yes, bring all hell crashing down around us, why don't you?" Severus sneers in his famously venomous tones.

"Just because you always lose." Filius is right, he does.

Albus, ever the showman, walks slowly to the coffee table - the main focus of the staff room - and, to the disgust of house-proud Charity Burbage, stepped onto its gleaming mahogany surface, spreading his arms wide in front of us, inviting us into the farcical tradition.

"As you all know, today is the fourteenth day of the month of February." He is teasing us with a slow, rambling speech. "More commonly known as Saint Valentine's Day, specially named after -"

"Saint Valentine, we get it!" calls Rubeus Hagrid, who - I fear - has already been at the Firewhiskey I neglected to put away the previous night.

"Right… well… as we all know we have a special tradition linked with this very special day. Now, for poor Remus's benefit, I will explain the many complexities of the challenge (though I suspect he found out all about it in his fifth year in Hogwarts). Tradition dictates that all staff members will go into Hogsmeade village - with the exceptions of Poppy Pomfrey, who must remain to tend to any ill students, and Argus Filch, who is exceedingly ugly and therefore rendered useless in the challenge." It crosses my mind that Albus has been at the Firewhiskey as well. "Anyway, the challenge is that each staff member must get as many Floo numbers as possible. The person with the most at the end of the night will be the champion and win a year's supply of the Honeyduke's sweet of their choice. Or, is he or she prefers, a year's subscription to any publication of their choice… but not Playwizard, Severus. And also for your benefit, Severus, forgeries will not be accepted."

Severus's face dropping will be forever ingrained into my memory.

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_A/N: So, who is your favourite to win?_


	2. Keeping Up Appearances

_A/N: Just a mini update for now! :-)_

"Now, you will all have one hour to make yourselves beautiful, though for many, I know that will be nowhere near long enough. We will reconvene in the entrance hall." An overwhelming burst of outrage washes over the room but Albus takes it in his stride, as he does every year. "No time turners allowed. Remember, sixty minutes. Starting NOW!"

Although we all pretend for a second that we do not care, a quick glance at one another causes each of us to spring from our seats and hurtle towards the door in an odd parody of our own students leaving a lesson. Even Severus Snape, with his iron façade, slips into a stride as he leaves his seat and - as he reaches the empty corridor - he even risks a jog. It seems even the greasiest of us have their vanities.

Exactly one hour later, my foot leaves the bottom step of the Grand Staircase and makes a harsh clicking sound on the flagged stone floor that echoes around the vast room. It is empty of students for now, though I have no doubt the Weasley twins will be tiptoeing through here in the not too distant future. I see, as I move closer to the door, that I am the first here, barring Albus. My military precision pays off once more! I am always the first one; the others will follow soon.

Albus looks up as I reach him. He does not remove his eyes from mine for even a second. He is wearing his ridiculous retina-burning yellow robe and I cannot hold back a laugh.

"Are you going for the sympathy vote again?" The words slip from my mouth before I can stop them.

"Indeed. And what tactic will you be using tonight, I wonder?"

"How dare you?" I reply mockingly. "I shall be winning them over with pure charm and charisma."

"Daddy issues tactic?"

"You know me too well," I grin. Albus nods knowingly. We tumble into a contented silence, awaiting the return of the others. One by one, they file in, dressed to their very best. Well, nobody can resist a little vanity - can they? (that is exactly why it is a sin). Even I have put on my best dress: a floor-length red number with gold-detailed straps (nothing like a bit of Gryffindor patriotism) and a split up the right leg, which goes a little too far upwards - luckily, Albus has not yet noticed. Possibly a bit risqué, but I really could not care less.

Pomona positively bursts through the front doors, casting the cold in on top of us all. But she does not seem to mind about that.

"Is everybody here, yet?" she asks, almost jumping with badly contained excitement.

"All but Severus," Aurora Sinistra butts in, adjusting her not-at-all-revealing, Nun-worthy, purple robes for the sixtieth time (and counting). This comes as quite a shock to all of us; Severus may have even… dare I say it?… washed his hair!

Speculation ceases as the man himself steps up from the dungeon stairs in a shockingly clean-pressed grey pin-striped suit. However, what is more shocking than anything else, his hair is no longer the greasy curtain of black it has always been; it is slicked back neatly atop his pale head. I am not sure whether to gape or to fall about laughing.

"Well?" Suddenly his cold voice seems oddly debonair in comparison to how it does in his teaching robes. "What are you all staring at?" For an embarrassing moment, we all turn our eyes to the floor or to somebody else. I catch Albus' eye and see that he has been stifling laughter, his eyes watering with mirth. I must take the initiative, it seems.

"Are we all ready? It is just that I have a strong feeling that the Weasley twins will be on their way to the kitchens at this very moment and I should so hate to have to Obliviate them."

"Careful, Minerva, you might be taking Sybil's job if you carry on like that," Remus pipes up. I am happy to see that he decided to come along; the open air will be good for him, and he might actually meet somebody nice… stranger things have happened. Sybil, though - in her million sparkling shawls and peacock blue robes - looks horrified at the notion and clears her throat rather loudly, pushing her way towards the door.

Everybody follows suit and I am left, last to leave. As I turn to pull the doors closed, I hear creeping footsteps that stop swiftly as I face the Grand Staircase. Sure enough, there stands Fred and George Weasley wearing their usual matching cheeky grins with not even a hint of sheepishness.

"Evening, Professor," says George with a military salute.

"At ease, Mr. Weasley," I smirk back. "Just be quiet about my attire, and I shall be quiet about your regular trips to the kitchens."

"But how do you -?" Fred begins, stopping himself mid-sentence. "Of course you know." He shakes his head to himself as if the answer was obvious all along.

"Elves are dreadfully trusting, are they not? Next time I suggest the invisibility charms in your textbook." I close the doors on their cheerful faces just in time to hear their call of "nice dress, Minnie!" (they would only dare to say that through a closing door). They remind me of four young boys I had taught years ago… though I have to say, it feels like only yesterday.

"Nice dress, indeed!" I find myself muttering.


	3. Sparkling Oneliners

_A/N: To anyone who may be reading this, my profuse apologies are with you. I have once more found time for fiction. So, without further ado, I give you chapter three._

With my long strides, it does not take long for me to catch up to my colleagues - even in my ridiculous heels. I eventually fall into step with a silent Remus Lupin.

"Did you lot do this when we were at school?" he ventured after a few moments of companionable quiet.

"You are telling me that the Marauders, the Fantastically Frustrating Four, were completely oblivious to adult behaviour?"

He blushes a cherry red colour that would not, I find myself thinking, be out of place on the walls of the Gryffindor common room. I decide to save him the embarrassment of bumbling a false answer like Cornelius Fudge, and instead turn the conversation in his direction.

"Do I detect a hint of coyness in your manner?"

He sends a sheepish look my way, followed by a slightly worried frown. "Do you?"

"Don't worry," I smile. "Girls love that."

As I find increasingly while my age grows, I take pleasure in leaving people hanging with my sparkling one-liners; therefore I resume my faster pace, taking care to avoid Sybil who is teetering precariously (and rather miraculously seeing as she is not wearing heels) a few paces in front of me. Be warned, this is what an abundance of cooking sherry does to you.

Minutes later, we are standing in a regimental line before The Three Broomsticks. Smug smiles fixed in place, we head towards the small wooden door.

As I cross the public house's threshold, I am struck by just how affected I had become by the cold weather outside (we do reside in Scotland, after all). I immediately take a seat at the bar, next to a rather sophisticated-looking man, who drains his glass as I arrive. Sensing my advantage, I position my legs ever so slightly to lean towards him.

"Excuse me," says a silky voice in my ear.

"Yes?" I reply in the slightly husky tone I had developed for such situations. I turn. It is not the man sitting next to me who is talking, but another man, tall and lanky.

"I think you are in my seat."


	4. An unexpected Companion

My heart sinks.

So, I have been attempting to get the Floo number of a homosexual man. Well this night is going to be interesting.

"Terribly sorry," I stutter, forgetting my purpose and losing the control of my larynx simultaneously. Slightly dejectedly, I slip into the next seat down.

"No, no. Honestly it is no problem." He awkwardly sticks out his right hand. "Luca Williams. Oh, and this is my brother, Nathaniel."

And in that one second, my prospects are beginning to look brighter.

Meanwhile, Severus Snape has slipped out of The Three Broomsticks and is striding, head-down, towards the corner beside Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour; he is searching for a classier sort of woman than the types that hang around The Three Broomsticks. _I mean, Aurora Sinistra for Merlin's sakes!_

As he rounds the corner, his eye is caught by a woman sitting on a bench, her head buried deep into a novel. It is a Muggle novel. Pride and Prejudice. A niggling feeling in the back of Severus' head reminds him that he has heard of the book before.

"Excuse me," he attempts in a honeyed tone. The woman looks up.

Oh, for Merlin's sake!

I leave The Three Broomsticks with no less than seven Floo numbers tucked into the upper lining of my dress. Where to go next? My feet lead me automatically past Hogsmeade's sweet shop, which has become the bane of my life since Albus discovered Muggle sweets, and around the corner of Florean Fortescue's. Then my eyes direct themselves towards a miniscule amount of activity on my left-hand side. There is a shuffling of feet.

I glance, with - admittedly - an increasing pulse rate, down through the alleyway that lurks beside me. My eyes try to search through the darkness to find the source of the noise.

I whip my wand from a hidden pocket on the side of my dress. "_Lumos." The alley is shrouded in light, but still nothing is fully visible. Curiosity killed the cat, my mother would have said. But, I reason, I am not in cat form now._

_If I had not gone down the alleyway, if I continued on my path and walked towards the alcove a few paces ahead, I might have seen a colleague with a companion I never would have thought possible._


	5. Similarities

_A/N: I'm back again! I'm currently revisiting (and attempting to complete) my unfinished fics. This, being my favourite is going to be the first one. However, this will only be a short update as it's past midnight here!_

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Severus Snape stares, eyebrows raised at the pouting form of Aurora Sinistra.

"What's the matter, Severus?" she asks, gazing up at him with bright blue eyes. They're twinkling. So startlingly blue. _Why hasn't he noticed that before now? _

"Oh… nothing," he replies, somewhat irked. "What are you doing here?"

Aurora writhes slightly on the wooden bench, her knuckles turning white around the edges of the battered novel in her hands. "I just wanted some air, is all. Besides, I could ask you the same question."

"And I would give you the same answer," he replies, a smirk pushing up the sides of his pale face. He, by now, is accustomed to eluding any questions posed to him while seeming to give a perfect answer. If there is one thing he cannot stand - and, trust me, there are many - it is people who insist on wedging their noses firmly into your business, no matter how little they are wanted there.

"Not having much luck either?" She sends a smirk back to him that is almost identical to his own, though he will never admit that he realises it.

"I do not know what you are talking about." His apparent indifference does nothing to fool her, although he does not seem to see it in her violet-tinted smile.

"I just do not understand this silly thing." She flicks a delicate wrist, gesturing to the bitter air around their heads. "Every year, we go out into Hogsmeade and make total and utter fools of ourselves. I mean, we are supposed to be adults." For the first time, Severus Snape realises that he has something in common with the woman sitting next to him. He, who spends his time safely out of the light. She, who spends her days gazing at the stars. The realist and the dreamer. Maybe they are not as different as they think.

"It was a game of Minerva's creation, I believe." He adds as an afterthought, "Randy mare."

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Bricks make everything intimidating. And bricks are everywhere in the alleyway. Hardly any light graces the narrow path. Every now and then, my foot slips into a wet, slimy puddle. Every one of them panics me more than the last. Every step heightens my awareness of the stench of rotting cabbage and the prickle of cold air on my skin.

I pride myself on being a rational thinker, but today I am failing myself.

I find I cannot help myself from calling out, "Is anybody there?"

The echo of my own voice rings around the alley. Nothing more. Then I hear it: the tiniest hint of a shoe on the wet cobbles. If it were not for my superior sense of feline hearing I would put it down to my brain over-ticking. But I heard it.

Heart racing, I make to turn around. Whoever is behind me notices my movement as one hand wraps around my waist, another comes to my mouth and I am pulled against a stone-solid chest. In my ear, a gruff voice:

"Scream and I'll slit your throat."


	6. Grasps

I desperately fight the urge to kick out at the man standing behind me. It would be so easy just to wiggle my wand from my pocket and stun my attacker into oblivion. As if he senses what is running through my mind, he clamps my wrists together with one over-sized hand, keeping the other steadfastly holding his wand at my throat.

_Just how much damage can a high heel do to a man's nether regions? _I find myself wondering as the impending panic begins to mount.

I am being dragged further back in to the alley way, passing more bricks and discarded rubbish with every few steps. There is another smell mingling with the alley's natural rotting cabbage, but I cannot quite place it for the life of me. I could say it is the smell of fear but I never have been one for melodramatic flairs.

Jerked from my thoughts by our sudden stop, I realise that my breathing is getting heavier, more ragged. The ruffian, who has evidently, until now, been attempting to prevent me from seeing his face, pushes my back hard against the wall, placing his hands on both of my shoulders to pin me in place. I could swear I hear something crack. I cannot bring my self to look up at him.

Then I see my opportunity.

So preoccupied is he with staring at my face, he does not notice as I lift my leg and bring my knee roughly into contact with his groin. He crumples and whimpers something unintelligible. I start to make a run for it, but he grabs me by the ankle before I can escape his sweaty grasp.

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Inside the Three Broomsticks, Pomona Sprout is laughing cheerfully with a rugged-looking old wizard, who is wearing a shabby set of grey robes. Filius Flitwick, however, is glaring unwaveringly in their direction, seeming to have completely forgotten about the competition. Rubeus Hagrid sits alone at one end of the bar, drowning his sorrows in a massive tankard of Firewhiskey, only removing his gaze from it whenever Rosmerta is kind enough to offer him yet another refill of bitter nectar.

Sybil Trelawney is in much the same state as Hagrid, obviously put off by the lack of potential suitors. Throwing herself at them had gotten her nowhere, so now she is attempting - upon the advice of her 'Inner Eye' - to don a sultry, uninterested posture at the bar.

With only an hour left until the end of the challenge, Remus Lupin had headed out of the door, away from the lively music and bumbling drunks of the public house. As he progresses down the Hogsmeade High Street, his steps are quick and light. Even when the moon is not full, he shies away from it like an embarrassed child after being caught in a prank.

His feet carry him soundly past a couple sitting upon a wooden bench at the corner of Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour - for want of a better phrase - snogging each others' faces off. For a moment he could swear that he recognises the two of them. The thought, thankfully, is fleeting and vanishes as he turns the next corner and forces open the door to the Hog's Head. Yes, it is noisier, less homely and much less sanitary than the Three Broomsticks but when you need to get Floo numbers fast, there is no better place.

Well, in for a Sickle, in for a Galleon.

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_A/N: I'm not usually one to beg, but please review? Pretty please? Don't make me set Molly and her Howlers on you!_


	7. Gryffindor Courage

I almost shout out. I almost scream at the top of my lungs. I almost shake the roof tiles with my formidable vocal power. I _almost_ do.

Instead, I am stopped by the sound of the thing with its hand still wrapped soundly around my ankle. It rasps quietly:

"Minerva."

I swear I heard it wrong. I feel a sharp tug on my ankle and come crashing down to the floor. I only just manage to stop myself from injuring my face as my body collides with the cold, sodden cobbles. A groan escapes my lips as the reality strikes me. I feel bruises rising towards the surface of my skin.

Again, two hands grasp my wrists and I am turned so that my back is on the floor. I'm struggling, despite all my supposed Gryffindor courage. I writhe and try to slip free of the tightening grasp on my wrists. Breaths entered and left my lungs like saws hacking away at my lungs.

For a moment, he simply stares at me from underneath a hooded cloak. His gaze burns as it travels up and down my body. _Where's the Gryffindor now_? I turn my face to the side. Look at the wall. I will not look at him.

A moment later, there is an immense pressure on top of me. Sharp tears are beginning to well up in my ducts. A body presses firmly on top of mine. My father's kind, crisp voice rings clearly in my head: '_Minerva, tears never solved anything. Gryffindors do not cry!' _But I can't help it, Dad.

"Minerva." This time I definitely heard it correctly. A vague, scratchy whisper in my ear. He knows my name. He lowers the hood, removing his hands from my wrists; I could have made a break for it but he is still on top of me. Who in their right mind walks down a dark alleyway alone at night? I am an idiot. Worse than that. I spend my whole life warning people about things like this and yet here I am.

Suddenly two rough lips are pressed against mine and I hear myself moan against them, squirming, shaking my head. But they're still there. Then it strikes me. That other smell. I know what it is.

Lemon drops.

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_A/N: I realise that I included a rather long build-up to a very anti-climactic ending, but I simply could not bring myself to hurt Minerva (and you all asked so nicely). I also apologize that this is a very short chapter, but I hope you enjoyed it!_


	8. Promises

_A/N: As that last chapter was so short, I thought I would update this one on the same day. Enjoy._

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"ALBUS!" This time the tears will not stop. My face turns to look up at the man laying on top of me. I recognize those sparkling blue eyes instantly. "Albus Dumbledore, what the HELL do you think you are doing?" I am still breathing like I have gone three rounds in a duelling arena with an incensed Hungarian Horntail.

"I'm kissing you." He smiles childishly as if he had done absolutely nothing wrong. That _infuriating _man! For the first time in my life, I am truly speechless. Albus had had some twisted ideas in the past, but this really took the ginger newt. "You didn't have to kick me, you know, Minerva."

"You didn't have to sneak up on me like you were going to attack me! What did you expect me to do?" I try to push myself up but he refuses to move or even relinquish his grasp in the slightest. Even though I know I am safe, I am still horrified. I am still shaking like a leaf in a hurricane underneath him.

"I was trying to add a little spice to our marriage." With those few words, I become enraged.

"'A little spice?' Scaring me half to death won't do that!" I am starting to get hysterical, aware of the tears streaming down my face and yet on the verge of misplaced laughter. He is staring at me, crestfallen. _Serves him right_.

"Tell me about it," he smiles despite himself. The anger is slowly subsiding, the fire behind my eyes is doused.

"Honestly, Albus, most men would go for scented candles or roses or something."

"I am not most men."

Now my hands are free, I lift one to his face. He smiles his stupid child-like smile with his stupid, child-like features and I lift my hand away. He is shocked as I plant a slap on his cheek with as much force as I can muster. It is his turn now to raise his face, massaging the newly reddened area of his face. Then I shock us both. I pull his face down towards my own. We are inches apart, just gazing at each other. He takes the initiative and I feel his lips on mine. _Is it just me or are they smoother than they felt before I knew it was him_?

For a few moments we are silent, enjoying the silence, the weight of the air like lead between us. "I didn't mean to trip you," he says sheepishly. "Sorry I hurt you."

"Likewise."

The cold air tingles my skin as we walk, hand-in-hand, back towards the castle. For once, we are not afraid to be discovered. It is reckless, we both know, but neither of us care.

"Just promise me one thing, Albus," I say lightly.

"Anything, my dear." He is looking at me with those imploring blue eyes again.

"_Never _do anything this stupid again." An infuriating but somehow endearing chuckle escapes his lips at the sound of my words. His little ticks - laughs at odd places, twinkling eyes, twitches of his beard - speak volumes to me, as they always have. People often ask me how we can come to mutual decisions with barely a word spoken between us. My answer is always the same: 'When you know somebody as long as the Headmaster and I have known each other, words cease to be the main communication line between you; they start to become irrelevant.' They do not know of our marriage, of course, but sometimes people don't need to know.

"Only, my dear, if you will extend the same courtesy to me." As I said, words cease to be the main communication line, and so riddles tend to be more common.

"What on earth are you babbling about now?"

"You were walking through a dark alley on your own at this time of night," he sighs. Wavering tones in his voice tell me that he is angry… well, as angry as Albus Dumbledore will let on without being truly incensed. I realise that he is not so much angry as disappointed and that killed me.

"I promise," I whisper hoarsely, holding back more tears as we reach the vast oaken doors to the Entrance Hall.

A gust of warm air strikes our faces as we step over the threshold. All is silent for a moment. We are the first back.

Before I can come to my senses, Albus pulls me into an embrace and kisses me soundly. His arms snake around my waist as I melt into his embrace, opening my mouth to allow his tongue further purchase. Unwillingly, I let a small moan escape my throat.

I hear a scuffling sound and my eyes flicker open.

Standing at the bottom of the stone staircase is a pair of wildly grinning, red-haired nitwits. They each let out a synchronised low whistle and shake their heads.

"Go Minnie."

"WEASLEY!"


	9. And the Winner Is

_A/N: As this story comes to a close, I would like to thank you all for the lovely reviews and for reading the entire story._

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Having banished the Weasley twins to their common room, bribed them into silence and sighed in relief, Albus and I find ourselves walking up towards the staff room, where we sit together in a companionable silence. The others begin to filter in before long.

Once we are all gathered and seated in some fashion (including Sybil, who - being far too inebriated to conjure herself a chair - had collapsed to a heap on the wooden floor), Albus decides to announce the results.

"My dear friends, I trust you have all had an _entertaining_ evening." You know you have said something stupid when the entire room groans. The entire room is groaning now, whether that is because of the slightly-higher-than-expected alcohol level or because they had a considerable degree of failure, I do not know. "Well, I have managed to secure two separate Floo numbers, myself." He places two scraps of parchment on the table and aims a devastating smile my way. _Oh, that smile_!

Following his lead, Pomona Sprout places on the table the single Floo number she has managed to obtain, which is saying something as she rarely even manages one. Filius, Rubeus and Sybil each hang their heads and regretfully announce that they have not managed to acquire any Floo numbers at all. This comes as no surprise to me, however harsh that may sound to your ears.

"Only one, I am afraid," announces Aurora Sinistra with an almost imperceptible glance towards the Potions Master and Dungeon Bat Extraordinaire, Severus Snape. Thanks to my animagus senses, I even notice Severus's mouth twitching. _That sly Slytherin swine (try saying that five times faster)_!

"And it is one from me, also," Severus says smoothly, never moving his eyes from the Astronomy Professor. Young love is such a marvellous thing, don't you think?

Rolanda Hooch pulls out five different Floo numbers, Bathsheda Babbling only three, Charity Burbage a single one and Septima Vector brings out three.

"Step back people," I say, plucking out seven Floo numbers from the upper lining of my dress (while ignoring the distressed cries of '_URGH_' from Severus Snape).

"Told you she was a randy mare," I hear him say to Aurora.

"Well, where else do you suggest I keep them, Severus?" I ask, gesturing to my attire.

"I shudder to think." I will seek revenge on him for that remark later. But, for now, I settle with smugly placing all seven numbers on the coffee table in the centre of the room. I am confident that I will win the annual challenge yet again. I realise that in one story I probably seem to you to be arrogant, self-obsessed and impolite but I can assure you that these traits only usually come out when I become involved in the challenge. _Honestly_!

"Is that all? Ah, Remus. How many Floo numbers did you manage to secure?" Albus asks politely.

He clears his throat sheepishly and steps forward, pulling a wad of parchment scraps from the inside pocket of his unusually smart robes. "If I have counted correctly, I have thirteen."

I actually have to stop my jaw from gaping open.

Thirteen? Now, _that_ is an achievement. Everybody in the room is somewhat flabbergasted to say the least and Remus Lupin probably more so.

"Well, there we have it, people. Our winner this year is Remus Lupin! Your prize will be arranged within the next few days. Congratulations, Professor."

/*************\

"Are you disappointed, Minerva?" Albus asks as we slip through the corridors together. He has already accompanied me on my customary after-hours round of the Gryffindor dormitories and everybody - Weasley twins included - are present and accounted for. It takes me a while to realise that we have already passed my office. But my feet will not stop.

"Disappointed, yes. Surprised, yes. Annoyed, not at all. I'm so glad Remus managed to find some confidence with the opposite sex. Plus," I add conspiratorially, "I am fairly certain I spied him slipping an extra Floo number into his other pocket. At least somebody got something good out of it."

"How very noble of you." We walk on in silence for a while longer. "You still wish you had won though, don't you?"

"Of course!"

"Well, I suppose you should get some sort of consolation prize for coming second," he says, pulling me into an embrace and planting soft kisses along my jaw line. With all the effort I have, I push him away. I grab his hand and we hurtle up the remainder of the stairs. I force the office door open and pull Albus towards his own bedroom.

"I have a better idea."

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_A/N: Again, thank you so much for reading, reviewing, subscribing and favourite-ing! I hoped you enjoyed the ride. Tartan-angel :)_


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